


The shrunken shirt of sex

by KendraPendragon



Series: 400 followers [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-16
Updated: 2014-11-16
Packaged: 2018-02-25 15:11:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2626298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KendraPendragon/pseuds/KendraPendragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part of my 400 followers celebration on tumblr. lokiafterdark asked: How about Sherlolly: Molly does laundry and shrinks a very important article of Sherlock's clothing?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The shrunken shirt of sex

_Diary of Molly Hooper, Friday, 16th May, 20:45 pm:_

I am a very patient person. Ask anyone. I even have built up quite a reputation amongst my friends and colleagues for my patience with Sherlock. Greg calls me the ‘Sherlock-whisperer’. Only when the man in question is not around, of course. Dread the day Sherlock finds out about this. Though he enjoys making fun of others, he doesn’t enjoy when the joke’s on him. One of his lesser qualities.

But he can be lovely if he chooses to. I’ve always known this about him. It’s one of the things I like about him. He is a good person, all in all. These past seven days, this sentence has become my mantra. I need it to stay calm. And deep breaths. In need these, too. A lot of them.

Unfortunately, the more I repeat and breathe, the less it seems to work. Honestly, I’m running out of ideas of what to do to stop me from slapping the man. God knows I’ve done it often enough. But he just doesn’t stop!

Late-night violin playing, dangerous experiments, sometimes involving Toby (I gave him to Caroline from next door after coming home to discover that Sherlock had shaven half his fur off. Said he needed the hair. Still have no idea what for).

I just have enough!

I can’t believe he would behave like this after everything I’ve done for this man!

I risked my career to save his life, damn it!

And, as he so kindly points out again and again, my career is all I have now that I’m single again.

Gosh, just thinking about this makes me so angry…

Why does he have to pour salt into the wound?

Instead of asking himself why I broke things off with Tom, he just mocks me with it.

What a friend…

 

I could have had it all! A spring wedding, a marriage, a little house outside London, a good man for a husband – a man who bloody loved me!

And what did I do? Threw it all away just because I…

Great, he just came home and now he’s standing in front of me and demands – yes, demands – the bed. Seems I have to sleep on the couch again. At least I won’t have to fight for it with Toby.

Oh my Gosh, I just realized: I gave Toby away for this horrible man. I do it all the time, don’t I? I push away the people (and pets) who love me for a man who only acknowledges my existence when I can be of service to him.

  
What the heck is wrong with me???

I must be a masochist of some sort.

But no more! NO MORE!

 

_Friday, 16th May, 22:50 pm:_

I am lying on the couch. I hate my life…

 

_Thursday, 22nd May, 14:14 pm:_

Yup, it has happened. We had a fight. A bloody huge one.

I just lost it and almost literally jumped at his throat.

It was just a remark about me using the wrong detergent for his precious silk shirts. But in this one moment, in which he looked down at me with his nose wrinkled and his eyebrow raised, every mean word and every bad thing he ever said or did EVER bubbled up to the surface and I erupted like a volcano.

Not only did I reproach him with it, I also spat every insult at him which crossed my mind.

At first, he just listened, his eyes growing bigger the louder I shouted. Hihihi, thinking about it, he looked like lightning had struck him.

But then I came to THAT Christmas and something inside him snapped and then it was basically shouting at each other simultaneously for the next fifteen minutes or so.

Oh, it was so horrible. All the frustration that has built up over the past years boiled. Ha, at one point I even threatened to burn his stupid clothes, starting with his oh so precious purple shirt.

Ridiculous! We both know I love this shirt. I know that he knows because I noticed that he always wears it on my birthday. I guess it’s his version of a thoughtful birthday present: Letting me look at him with the shirt straining to keep his beautiful upper body covered.

Gah, I hate this man!

…Who am I kidding? Of course I don’t hate him. I just hate that I love him…

Anyway, the fight ended abruptly when I started to cry. I always do when I’m too upset.

I started sobbing, he froze, stared at my face for a second, then fled the room.

No one’s seen him since then. Not even Anderson. Apparently, he’s found a new bolt hole.

I assume he won’t come home for a while…

  
  


_Saturday, 24 th May, 8:33 pm:_

Damn it! Where is he? You know why he’s doing it? To piss me off. And to feel guilty. 

Well, Sherlock Holmes, congratulations, mission accomplished.

Dickhead!

 

_Tuesday, 27nd May, 11:55 pm:_

It’s been three days now. I can’t sleep.

Dickhead! Dickhead! Dickhead!

 

_Friday, 30_ _th_ _May, 5:24 pm:_

He’s back. Silently walked into the living room to announce his return, looked at the TV instead of me for a minute, then turned around and went into the bedroom. He closed the door.

What the heck?

If he’s waiting for me to apologize, then he better not hold his breath!

 

_Tuesday, 3_ _rd_ _June, 2:04 pm:_

We haven’t spoken to each other in four days. This is getting ridiculous. I need Mrs. Hudson back. Now!

 

_Wednesday, 4_ _th_ _June, 7:30 am:_

Oh. My. God. OH MY GOD! OHMYGAWD!

I SHRANK THE PURPLE SHIRT!!

SHIT! SHIT! SHIT!

  
I don’t even know how it happened! I did everything as usual! Oh Lord, he’s going to kill me! He’s going to believe I did it on purpose after I stupidly threatened to do it!  
Oh, universe, I hope you have a good laugh at this one. It’s certainly a masterpiece. 

I spent all day trying to find the same shirt or one that looks somewhat like it, but of course there wouldn’t be any purple shirts in all of London when I need one. Story of my life.

What the heck am I supposed to do now?

…Wine. I need wine.

  
  


_ 8:15 am: _

After half an hour of thinking and drinking I put the shirt back into the closet under all the other shirt. I guess my best chance is praying that he doesn’t want to wear it in the next three days. Three more days and Mrs. Hudson will be back and Sherlock will go back to Baker Street. Surely she’ll know what to do. Maybe she would agree to blame it on her? If I explain, maybe she’ll understand. She’s a goodhearted woman, she knows what’s on the line.

…I still can’t believe I shrank the bloody shirt. Where’s the Doctor with his sodding time machine when you need him?

  
  


_ 1:25 pm: _

I feel like crying. Or panicking. My brain can’t decide which one.

  
  


_ 6:04 pm: _

Phew, so far so good. Sherlock has come and gone without finding out about the shirt. Maybe fate will have mercy and he really doesn’t notice.

  
  


_Thursday, 5 th June, 0:36 am:_

Wohoo, I found the online store which sells his shirts. Ordered five. They’ll be here tomorrow, express delivery. Catastrophe prevented.

  
  


_Thursday, 5_ _th_ _June_ _, 13:53 pm:_

HE FOUND IT! GOSH, HE FOUND IT! HE’S RAGING THROUGH THE FLAT, TRYING TO FIND ME! 

He’s swearing quite colorfully.

…I’m hiding in the cupboard. 

  
  


_14:02 pm:_

Pahahaha, the shirt looks ridiculous on him. Saw him for a second before I bolted. The sleeves are only reaching his elbows and his belly is showing to his navel. A thing I never knew about Sherlock Holmes: He has a happy trail.

…Better not think about this now…

  
  


_14:05 pm:_

I wonder how long I can hide from him. He’s still yelling and crashing things. Don’t know if he’s more mad about the shirt or the fact that he can’t find me.

Despite the discomfort of being cramped up in a dark cupboard with the only light coming from my mobile, it’s a pretty good feeling to outwit the great consulting detective.

  
  


_14:11 pm:_

Do I have to worry about air supply? I feel a little light-headed.

  
  


_14:28 pm:_

It’s been half an hour. No matter what he does to me after he finds me, this has been a triumph.

  
  


_14:47 pm:_

It’s eerily quiet out there. Maybe he’s stormed out. I think I’ll go check.

  
  


_Friday, 6_ _th_ _June, 22:43 pm:_

Turns out he hadn’t left the flat yesterday. In fact, he had been kneeling on the counter above the cupboard, waiting for me to leave my hiding place. He pounced me as soon as I crawled out of it.

I expected the worst and therefore wrestled him as soon as his hands touched me.

…I don’t really know how it happened, but we ended up having angry sex on the kitchen floor. And on the kitchen table…and against the counter.

We haven’t done anything else in the past 18 hours…

He’s sleeping with his head in my lap now. I can’t stop staring at him. He’s so beautiful. And he looks shockingly young when he’s this relaxed.

I can see the shirt from the bed. It’s lying on the floor next to the door. It’s torn. I have no idea if it’s been him or me. It might have been me.

I can still taste him on my tongue. He’s delicious. That’s a surprise, right?

 

Boy, my head is spinning. We really should talk about this, shouldn’t we? It would be the responsible thing to do. I don’t want to end up with my heart turned into slush.

Yes, we definitely have to talk. No more shagging before we haven’t cleared the air.

 

_Saturday, 7_ _th_ _June, 4:23 am:_

We shagged.

Four times.

Damn it!

 

_Wednesday, 16:15 pm:_

Well, Sherlock is back to Baker Street. And I’m with him. He says I live here now. He personally fetched Toby from Caroline. 

It’s definitely the oddest declaration of love I’ve heard, but it suits Sherlock Holmes like the new shirts I bought him. 

…I have no idea where this is going, but at the moment I am in a state of bliss and I won’t destroy it by over thinking things. I love him and he loves me. Let’s see what happens. 


End file.
